


Impurrfections

by Masu_Trout



Category: Naruto
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kisame Has a Fanclub and it's All Cats, Resurrection, Undercover in a Cat Cafe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: Sakura's mission goes from bad to worse when a dead man steps through the door.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Hoshigaki Kisame
Comments: 13
Kudos: 198
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	Impurrfections

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartbeatstumbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbeatstumbles/gifts).



> I desperately hope you were serious about the "undercover as an employee in a cat cafe" tag, because... welp!

There's a moment just before the bell over the door jingles that Sakura realizes her day's about to get a whole lot worse. 

It's only ten in the morning and Sakura's already tired and sweaty. There's cat fur stuck to every part of her body, and she's covered in angry red scratches all down her arms that she can't heal away for fear of blowing her cover. So when she feels an unnervingly familiar wave of chakra, massive enough to drown in and filled with casual malevolence—a cheery aura of, _well, I don't_ want _to fuck you up, of course, but give me half a reason and I will_ —her first thought isn't to grab the kunai tucked away in the flesh-toned pouch strapped to her inner thigh. Hell, it isn't even fear. It's the cold, casual apathy that every minimum wage worker in every shop across the Elemental Nations knows intimately.

 _Of course_ , she thinks.

Of course this is going to happen to her. Of course it's going to happen today. She already spent most of the morning getting yelled at by a seventy-year-old woman with an expired coupon; why _wouldn't_ some dangerous missing-nin show up at the same failing cat cafe in the ass-end of the Land of Water that she's been working at for the past three weeks? 

The door over the bell chimes. Sakura straightens, and smiles, and says, "Hello! Welcome to the _Purrfect Escape_ Cat Cafe! Are you interested in having a drink with us today?"

The missing-nin blinks at her, his pale eyes stark against the blue of his skin. He looks every bit as lost as she feels.

Sakura keeps the smile pasted on her face. Inside, she's screaming. No wonder his chakra reminded her so much of waves.

Hoshigaki Kisame looks almost naked without his misshapen lump of a sword strapped to his back. And the faded pink tee and casual pants he's wearing sure don't make Sakura feel _less_ she's been caught in a particularly baffling choice of genjutsu. 

And then, of course, there's the tiny little matter of how he should be dead. Ninja might be good at escaping certain death, but—even for their sort, being eaten alive by sharks is pretty damn certain.

She presses her hands surreptitiously together and mutters _kai_ under her breath as quietly as she can manage. It doesn't make any part of this situation disappear, but it does make Kisame's expression sharpen as he focuses in on her. 

He grins. His teeth are just as knifelike as she remembered.

"Hi," he says, all too casual, and then, "you know what, sure, I'd love to spend some time. A cat cafe, you said?"

It couldn't be any more obvious that's exactly what this place is. The off-white walls decorated haphazardly with pictures of cats and the kinds of rote motivational saying civilians love; the tables and booths scattered around, surrounded by cat toys and scratching posts; the vague scent of fur and kibble in the air; and, of course, the cats _literally everywhere_. 

"Yes!" Sakura tells him. "Why don't you take a seat?" And then, because right now she's full of more rage than sense, she adds, "Just to be clear, the cats here are _entertainment_. Not menu items."

Kisame's grin grows even wider and toothier. "Is that so? What a shame."

He's messing with her. She knows it. Even now, with years gone since they were a threat, she remembers every single detail she ever learned about the Akatsuki better than she remembers her own birthday. None of Konoha's intelligence ever suggested Kisame's diet was anything other than bland, standard human. But that doesn't mean she doesn't want to wipe his smug predator's grin right off his smug stupid face.

His chakra keeps building and building. Apparently death hasn't hurt his reserves at all. And Sakura can defend herself—hell, the moment he breaks this stalemate she'll make him regret he was ever born—but they're in a civilian building right now, right in the middle of a civilian village, and she has a single kunai to her name. Losing her cover's going to be the least of her worries if he decides to attack. The casualties will be...

At their feet, there's a noise. Sakura looks down.

"Oh," she says, "I—" and then has to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. 

Kisame's ankles have become the center of attention. 

Momo winds between his legs, purring loudly, stopping every few moments to butt her head aggressively against his calves. Maron, normally the shiest creature Sakura's ever known, has sidled up to Kisame's sandals and is eyeing them like he wants to pounce. And more of the cafe's residents are slipping out from under tables or behind couches, each of them watching Kisame as intently as the next.

Forget eating. Kisame's going to have to worry about being _eaten_. She knows what the looks he's getting means—she sees it every morning at eight, normally aimed at the bowls of kibble it's her job to set out.

"Well," she says in her blandest, cheeriest customer service voice, "looks like you're popular."

Kisame's cheeks have gone a fascinating shade of purple. His hand twitches towards his back—towards Samehada, she's sure—and then when his fingers hit empty air he winces. He eyes her warily. "By take a seat, you mean..?"

It's only then it occurs to Sakura he might not be there for her—and, in fact, might be every bit as confused as she is right now. More, really, because she's at least been _alive_ to see the changes that've swept the Elemental Nations over the past few years. Whatever's happened to bring Kisame back, she has a sneaking suspicion it didn't bother to stop and explain the current sociopolitical environment to him.

She frowns. "It's not like I asked you to step in here, you know. Do I _look_ like I want you ruining my mission?"

"Mission, huh?" he asks blandly, looking up and down her hair-covered uniform. For a man whose face is mostly gill, he sure can raise an eyebrow expressively. "And here I thought you'd found a nice retirement package."

" _Sit_ ," Sakura tells him, pointing at a table tucked away into a back corner of the shop—the closest thing to secure this rickety little place has. "We'll talk. And I'll decide if bringing your head back to Konoha on a stake is worth ruining my mission for."

"I'd like to see you try," Kisame says, sounding entirely sincere, but he heads towards the table without another complaint.

The cats follow. It's Sakura's cue to start wishing she'd thought to hire an artist for the shop. She doesn't want just want a picture of this moment, she wants a whole damn _portrait_.

—

Kisame tells her he likes his tea black, so she tops his cup off with an obnoxious amount of cream before she hands it over to him. She's made herself a drink too, her favorite green tea, and carries it over to the table to sit down across from him. Having something to drink makes things almost feel normal—like he's just an entirely normal customer, chatting to an entirely normal employee. Makes for better cover. And it means she'll have something hot to throw at his eyes, if it comes to that.

For a moment they size each other up. Kisame's eyeing the tea like he's not sure if it's poisoned—which she definitely would have tried if she had the right ingredients and any idea what kind of dosage a man with a metabolism like his would need, but she doesn't and she doesn't so he gets to live for now.

It could almost feel like a proper standoff—ninja to ninja, facing off against each other in the battlefield of the mind—right up until the moment a loud _mrrrow!_ erupts from somewhere beneath the table. Kisame's fanclub has followed him.

"So," she says, pointedly ignoring the cats as she takes a sip from her cup, "you're not dead."

He laughs, low and pleased. "Apparently not."

"You want to tell me anything about _that_?"

He shrugs. "If I knew anything, I would." He pauses. "Well, I wouldn't, but—you know."

He'd be holding it over her head much more pettily if he had actual information to hide from her. She gets it. 

And it's possible he could be lying—he's _S-Class_ , after all, and no one gets that high up in the world of missing-nin without learning treachery—but somehow Sakura doesn't think he is. She's no Ino, but she's good at reading people, and there's something a little bit lost about him. The laughter in his voice when he talks about not knowing why he's alive can't quite cover up his nerves, and no amount of throwing his menacing chakra around can hide just how uncomfortable he looks without his sword strapped to his back. And he wouldn't have shown up on an old enemy's doorstep unarmed and alone if he weren't blindly following whatever chakra signatures he could sense.

He's got nothing right now: no supplies, no weapon, no network, no sources of information except for her. And she'd like to say she's thinking about that stratetically—but she can't deny there's some part of her, even now, that's a sucker for someone lost and alone. Even if he does have blue skin and gills.

Or maybe, she thinks, it's the cats. For someone who said he wanted to eat them, Kisame isn't doing a very good job of hating them. Momo hops up on his lap, chirping loudly as she rubs against him, and he reaches down absentmindedly to skritch under her chin.

 _Traitors_ , Sakura thinks sourly. Thirty seconds with Kisame and they forget who's been feeding them all for the past month.

"They really like you," she says.

"I smell like fish to them. Of course they like me. Give it a few minutes and they'll be trying to eat me."

He sounds almost fond as he says it. It's...

It isn't endearing. It's _not_. She has detailed information on every shinobi Kisame ever tore apart or drowned or sucked dry of chakra burned deep into her brain, thanks to those old briefing meetings, and being vaguely fond of cats isn't enough to make a monster like him someone she can stand to be around.

He coos to Tama—a scrawny little tabby with too-big paws—as she jumps up beside Momo, and pauses in petting Momo to give her ears a quick rub. She all but melts under his hand, flopping onto her belly with all four paws splayed in the air.

 _Damn it_ , Sakura thinks, watching him.

It's Naruto's fault, really, or maybe it's Sasuke's. Having a teammate who brings home dangerous missing-nin like they're stray puppies does a lot to ruin a person's sense of what kinds of company is acceptable to keep, and having a friend who _was_ a dangerous missing-nin does a lot to ruin a person's sense of what crimes are acceptable to forgive.

And the blue is—well, it's almost nice, really. Kind of an interesting shade. And he's got muscle to spare. She's always liked a man who looks like he could crush spines between his bare hands, even if the spine he'd most likely be trying to crush is hers. Not like she couldn't crush his right back.

"Well." Sakura sighs, "Kisame. Look. What are you even doing here in the first place?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Kisame says with a pointed smile. Literally and metaphorically. "Last I heard, you were training under one of the sannin, not"—he glances around the room—"this."

"Yeah, funny thing about that, _I'm_ not the one who needs _your_ help."

"Humor me."

Like hell she's going to. She fixes him with a glare, gripping the edge of the table to hold back the urge to just reach out and strangle him—and then curses, letting go of the cheap wood, when it starts to splinter under her touch. Civilian furniture is so flimsy. He watches her all the while, still idly petting his new best friends. 

"I'm here on a mission for my village," she says finally, when it's clear he's got no intention of being helpful. "Which is something I don't expect you to understand."

He snorts. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Do you _want_ me to act like a loyal Kirigakure shinobi?"

No. No, she can't say she does. Not the way he's thinking of it, anyway.

"It's much better there now. You've just been too busy being a corpse to notice."

" _Really_ ," he says. "I can't say that's too easy to imagine." 

He sounds skeptical, of course, and beneath that—almost hopeful, maybe? She can't tell if it's real, or if she's just projecting what her response would be onto him. Sakura would want Kiri to be better, if she'd been born into it, but Kisame... she knows his kills, his allegiances, his partnership with Itachi. She never learned very much about his ideals, though, about why exactly he turned missing-nin to begin with. What kind of future did he imagine for the village he betrayed and abandoned?

And then he laughs to himself, and the moment is lost. "Well, if they're so sweet now, maybe they'll give me Samehada back if I just ask nice."

"Your sword?" Sakura asks. "Is that what you're here for?"

It makes sense: just how off-kilter he looks without it, why he'd be angling into Water territory from this direction at all. She can almost imagine his thought process, step by step; he must've expected these small, scattered territories on the edge of Water to be free of shinobi who might detect him, only to be surprised by her chakra. And better to start a fight than be caught off guard, even if that meant coming here without any weapon at all.

He frowns at her. The tension grows heavier in the room, along with the feel of his chakra. She can feel as easily as see just how plainly he's sizing her up, trying to decide if she's lying to him, if she's here to turn him back into a corpse—

The bell over the door rings again. Both of them freeze.

"Kikue-chan," her boss calls loudly as she steps through the door, "Did you get poor Momo her medicine yet—oh!"

Sakura's smile stays plastered on her face. She wants to sink through the floor. Stupid, _stupid_. She was so focused on Kisame's chakra, her boss's—a raindrop in comparison to the ocean of his power, her reserves as shallow and undeveloped as any civilian's—completely slipped by her. And, from the look on Kisame's face, he made exactly the same mistake.

He tenses, a predator ready to strike; Sakura grabs his arm and gives it a warning squeeze that would break any normal human's bones.

"Sorry," she says, slipping back into _Kikue_ with barely a thought, laughing embarrasssedly like the like the absentminded person her persona here is, "I did, I promise I did! Momo's been eating it all up."

Her boss eyes her suspiciously, then her gaze turns to Kisame and grows even more suspicious. "And who is this?"

This place is too far removed from Kirigakure to know the faces of its long-dead swordsmen, even faces as distinctive as Kisame's, but even if she doesn't know _missing-nin_ there's no doubt her boss realizes he's a shinobi. Sakura can blend into civilian life; Kisame, with his scars and his muscle and a body that could only come from a bloodline or some strange jutsu, doesn't have any such like. And ninja don't just just _show up_ at places like this out of the blue—not unless there's something they want.

"He's..." she says, and then her mind goes blank while her mouth keeps moving, and what she ends up spitting out is, "my boyfriend."

"Oh!" says her boss, a hand fluttering to her mouth.

"Oh," says Kisame, quieter but no less surprised. He's looking at her out of the corner of his eyes like she just handed him a live explosive and told him to deal with it—which, to be fair, is pretty much what this situation feels like.

Sakura's mouth has already betrayed her, but she decides to keep going anyway. 

"It's—oh, you know how it is," she says. "He fought in the war"—no need to say which side he was on—"and after, well... he decided to retire to the countryside. We met not too long ago, and well." 

She blushes. It's an excellent cover story, not least because the mortification she's feeling right now is _entirely_ real. It's a tragedy she never learned much in the way of earth-type jutsu, because right now she'd give anything for the ground to swallow her whole.

"That's..." her boss says, still stuck staring at Kisame, "oh, Kikue, that's wonderful, but are you—sure? Entirely?"

If she were actually dating Kisame, she'd be pretty damn offended on his behalf right now. She's a more than a bit offended as it is—he's far from ugly, bloodline-or-jutsu and all, and she's met her fair share of shinobi with personalities much worse than his. He'd make a good boyfriend for Kikue, she thinks indignantly; he'd never summon snakes to try and kill her, or start chowing down on dead bodies in front of her, and he'd be a great fisher—

She goes even redder as it hits her exactly what bizarre line of thought this has brought her down, and forces away the mental image of her and Kisame in a cabin by the lake.

"I like him for his personality," she tells her boss primly, hoping her the way her voice is shaking will sound like nerves over her relationship and not the sheer amount of bullshit she's slinging shining through.

It's not going to work. Even a civilian would realize her story's fishy. Her boss is going to see just how unbelievable it is, just how absurd an excuse...

"Aw, sweetheart," Kisame says, his voice gone soft and tender, and she has just enough time to look back in his direction before he's leaning over the table, and cupping the side of her face in one massive palm, and kissing her.

It's... not as cold as she would have expected, is somehow her first thought. His skin is warm and a little raspy. Not quite sharkskin, but not exactly a human texture either. It's toothy, but not in a _bad_ way; she deepens the kiss a little, just on pure instinct, shivers when her tongue catches the edge of one of those razor-sharp teeth—

And pulls back with a gasp, glaring at him to try and hide the refrain of _Oh shit, oh shit_ running through her head right now. She doesn't think her face is red anymore, at least—it's gone right past that into bloodlessly pale.

She's here to stop an assassination. Spending her mornings herding cats is bad enough; she absolutely _cannot_ be add this nightmare of a complication into it right now.

Sakura needs to stab him. One blow, right through the heart, burn the cafe down behind her, let the local official die. She can bring the cats back to Konoha with her and explain to absolutely _no one_ how or why this mission went so pear-shaped.

Kisame's staring at her. He looks every bit as startled as she feels—which is rich of him, considering who exactly started that. His hand drifts up to press against his mouth, and for a moment he just blinks at her before he visibly shakes himself and pastes his terrible attempt at a civilian-friendly smile back onto her face.

She can't kill him. Or, well, she _can_ , but—goddamn empathy, always getting in the way. And, unluckily for her, as a Konoha-nin and one Uzumaki Naruto's teammate she has a surplus of the stuff. She understands all too well right now just why so so many Kages have seemed hellbent on ripping it out of their troops. 

_Well,_ Sakura thinks. Credit where credit's due—her boss won't have any trouble believing their story after _that_ display.

And, true to form, when she glances over her boss is looking at them both with a hand pressed to her cheek and a smile on her face. Any doubts she might've had about Kisame are long gone, washed away by the promise of an adorable story she can tell the rest of the villagers. By nighttime, she's sure the glorious tale of young Kikue's romance with a battered ex-shinobi's going to be all over the village, and made about ten times more dramatic in the retellings. 

Will he have rescued her from wild sharks? Or ferocious Zetsu clones? Or maybe she'll have pulled his battered and bloodied body from the edge of a battlefield, nursed him back to health while doting over him.

It's going to be impossible to ditch Kisame now. Not with the cover she so brilliantly invented for herself. Damn it.

Sakura sucks in a breath, lets it hiss out from between her clenched teeth. 

"Ah, ma'am," she says, "I was wondering... I've gotten all the morning chores done already, and it's been a while since"—she glances at Kisame, trying to figure out what sort of name a man like him might have, and finally settles on the generic—"Daisuke and I got to catch up. He's been off looking for work, you see..."

And a poor, overworked veteran of the Fourth Shinobi World War is catnip for civilians.

"Oh!" her boss says. "Of course, Kikue, take the day off, enjoy your time together." 

"Thank you so much," Kisame says, giving her a smile that almost manages to not be terrifying, subtly trying to dislodge Momo from his lap as he stands. Her loud, offended yowl as she hops to the floor doesn't help him much. "I'm so glad to be able to spend this time with... Kikue."

"Of course, of course."

Sakura's boss ushers them out as quickly as she can, helping Sakura shove Kisame's fanclub back inside as they try to dart between her legs and follow him outside. The moment they're gone, Sakura's sure, her boss is going to be flipping the sign to _Closed_ and running to the grocery next door. All the town's busybodies gather there; with her fresh new gossip, she'll be the afternoon's star. Along with Sakura, of course.

God. She's never getting out of this.

She takes hold of Kisame's hand as they walk away and threads her fingers through his. He's got good callouses, she can't help but note; he clearly spends time training hand-to-hand as much as he does working with that nightmarish blade of his. He'd be incredible to spar with.

A quick pulse of her chakra to make sure no one else is around, and then she glares at Kisame. 

"Look," she hisses, " _I_ have a mission to complete here. And you're going to help me."

He raises an eyebrow. "Well, I mean, of course I'd do anything for my girl—"

She grips his hand tighter, until his bones start to creak. He puts the eyebrow back down in a hurry. 

"What's in it for me?" he asks instead.

She thinks it over a minute. Most of what she could offer him, he either wouldn't want or wouldn't understand the significance of; he doesn't seem motivated by wealth, whatever loyalties he might have once held died when the war ended, and anyone as dangerous as he is isn't about to jump at promises of safety. 

No. She knows what he wants. And she's all too aware of just how many laws she'll have to risk breaking to offer it to him. But—

He hasn't tried to kill her yet.

Sakura sighs. "I know where your sword's being kept."

It's his turn to tighten his grip. She pumps chakra into her hand to keep up with his sudden, desperate strength.

"Oh?" he asks, trying and failing to sound casual.

"And I can't promise to bring you to it—"

Kisame makes a discontented noise deep in his throat.

" _But_ ," she continues, "I know someone who does have access to it. They're not easy to get an audience with, but I have an in."

Admittedly, that person is Terumi Mei, and her _in_ is that she knows the Hokage—and knows full well he'll happily try to help even an undead enemy shinobi if their sob story is good enough. She doesn't need to mention that part of it, though. Even from their brief talk, she can tell his relationship with Kirigakure is too complex for an audience with the new Mizukage to be a safe offer. 

For a moment all he does is stare at her, brow furrowed, like he's trying to burn his gaze through her skin to burn down into her soul. 

"If you're messing with me..." he growls.

"No jokes," she says. A lot of desperate improvisation, yes, and just as much careful stretching of the truth, but she's being as serious as she can afford to be. 

His gills flare. His lip curls back to show those rows of gleaming white teeth. And then, with a heavy sigh, he lets go of the tension he's been holding in every line of his body.

"All right," he says. "But if you're lying to me—"

"You'll tear me apart and feed you to your pet sharks, got it."

He blinks at her, offended. "I wasn't going to say _that_."

"You'd do it, though, right?"

Kisame shrugs. "Well, sure. But I wouldn't tell you. Ruins the surprise."

At that, Sakura can't help but laugh—for a moment she feels exactly like the woman she's supposed to be playing, charmed by her shinobi husband. And sure, Kikue probably wouldn't be laughing at the idea of being eaten alive by sharks, but it's the same sort of thing, isn't it? Walking hand in hand, talking, smiling... she can make this work, she thinks. At least for the next few days.

She squeezes Kisame's hand a little tighter; this time, not hard enough to crush bones. 

"All right," she tells him, "here's the plan..."

The two of them get closer as they walk. By the time she's halfway through explaining her ideas for slipping laxative tea into the would-be assassins' drinks at the mid-summer festival—Kisame protesting quietly and enthusiastically, because just plain killing them is so much _easier_ —they're walking hip-to-hip, their bodies to close she can feel his warm breath against her neck.

Sakura tells herself she doesn't notice, and she doesn't push him away.


End file.
